


Wolf Pack

by Baconesque



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 15:22:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9331277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baconesque/pseuds/Baconesque
Summary: Derek got a secret he has never told anyone about.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i'll update the tags as the story goes on.

Derek got a secret he has never told anyone about.

It was far less like he had murdered someone, no, nothing bloody. Although considering his short fuse and deadly hands, he should be surprised that he hasn’t had any fatal encounters when he’s so pissed that he could literally tearing them to pieces. Which was bordering another untold secret that he’d prefer not to discuss right now.

The thumps of sandbag getting hit echoes in the roomy space. 

The thing is, by the character Derek is sporting right now, it’d make people hard to conceive and girls, well, his admirers lost their hots for him, that their hunky, hairy, all-American masculinity geared head to toe, professional personal trainer, had lost his virginity, by an explicit feminine sexual position, to a dude.

Derek uncontrollably cringed. He shuts his eye like he has been stabbed in the gut, then blindly gives the sandbag a malicious left hook.

It doesn’t matter how exactly did he get to roll in the hay with a fucking dude, the crux is that it’s so, so embarrassing that despite all these years, this stain on his life keeps haunting him in all the possible when and where. he was struck by it in the coffee shop, in the subway, in his fucking kitchen while he’s turning eggs. The most catastrophic one goes to, though, a night when Derek was on top of the girl he picked up at some bar, pounding her enthusiastically, and that dumb bitch went overly satisfied by Derek’s effort (they always do), but too stupid to even think foundling Derek’s ass cheeks and then touching his butthole was an option to spice things up. The should’ve been enjoyable night ended when Derek reacted immediately, knocked the girl to the ground in a thundering motion of rise and strike, but in the grace of, unfortunately, a scared kitten.

He’d apologized, of course. And the girl, thankfully no actually bruised, reluctantly accepted his excuse but clearly perplexed by the force Derek had putted into that punch. It’s the first and only night where Derek had to awkwardly sneaked out of the motel in the midnight and left his girl alone.  

He’d never seen her again, of course, he was glad it was just a one night stand after all. But this horrifying encounter nevertheless lifted up a little of the scab of his untouchable, shameful scar.

Besides, that fiasco was, 18 months ago. He’s over it by now. duh. he hardly remembers it. Yeah. He’s back to his attractive fit trainer life, earning admiring glances from his coworker and charming the female customers into training classes to boost his bonus.

But, well, if he’s being completely honest with himself, he couldn’t explain in his lifetime that why, why the hell on earth he’s regularly dwelling in this secret and, why a distant memory always making him hornier than every hot woman he’s ever meet.

He refuses to acknowledge this part of him as…him. He just shuts down his moral self for a second when sometimes he was in bed, about to go to sleep, or he accidentally spot some bulky, hairy dude in the gym with a thick beard. And when those moments hit him, his memory system would offer the fragments of the night he’d admittedly never forget.

It’d unfold, firstly, when he closed his eyes, something warm and orange would come into his blurred vision, heat would be buzzing under his skin. It was the bedside lamp and air conditioning in the seedy motel room and the guy’s body heat. He’d feel so, so comfortable being immersed by the warm environment. The gentle light making him half-lidded, He felt safe under that soft light, the guy’s firm embrace made him feel safer. he’d remember the slightly sticky touch of skin against skin, strong arms holding him down, keeping him in place. the furry chest and abs again his then-smooth ones, the lips that were kissing everywhere, the heavy, moist rumble of loving phrases and declarations. The guy had the most sexual and inviting voice Derek had ever heard in his life. That deep baritone was telling him to don’t worry, that he’s going to make him feel so good, that he’s so beautiful like this. Derek had never felt so loved, his body had never been so cherished and worshiped by anyone before. Derek would remember itchy touches of lips on skin, the rough burn of the guy’s beard and how he sheepishly hugged the guy’s board shoulder tight and wrapped his legs around his waist as he was slowing fucking Derek. It’s weird that what Derek remembers most clearly is not their dicks or the actual anal fucking he had, but those pleasant details and feels on his senses and body. They are paradoxically sweet and romantic to Derek despite their carnal nature, and it’s sarcastic and laughable that, despite all his charm and sexiness, his first time, his sexual introduction to the adult world, would be the closest experience he has that resemble something close to love. It’s as valuable to Derek as he’s detested and disgusted by it. 

Nevertheless, Derek would pick being the main course of a cannibal brunch any day of the week than to admit that he actually really, really enjoyed having sex with that dude. Because Derek the personal trainer is straight and he’s doesn’t like those homos very much. And, thankfully, although he remembered the details vividly, he has never been able to remember the guy’s face. It’s always a muffled shadow in his memories. Hard, defined features and a beard for sure, but the rest is a blur. He chalks it up to the alcohol he had consumed before stumbling into the motel with his date, or rather, his _man…_

fuck. Derek growls and hurled another mean punch to the poor sandbag again.

The problem is that he can’t help but cringes when he thinks about that. He couldn’t possibly figure anything related to that matter in his decent Derek mode. It can only be tolerated when he’s alone and lonely. Goddamnit. What he wouldn’t give to wipe that memory away. And to make things even more pathetic, he knows even if he could do that with a click, he couldn’t press the button.

Derek thinks his life is perfect without this fucking stain.

He gives up punishing his sandbag, heaving, and wipes the sweat on his face with the towel beside him.

“everything okay, D?” a female trainer in the room asks him, Derek instinctively turned and gave her a half-hearted smile before covering his face with his hands on the towel.

“yeah I’m good.”

“’kay, go easy on the bag huh? I can feel something is troubling you though, what is it?”

“just…” Derek shakes his head. Of course he’s not going to tell her the real why, and he’s too tired to make something up.

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“alright, if you say so…” the woman seems to have sensed Derek’s impatience in conversation or probably got cold feet by Derek’s supposedly grumpy expression, which is a huge relief…

“…I guess I’ll see you at the Morrison’s then?”

Fuck. He reluctantly took the towel off his face to look that the girl’s grinning face, “the…what?”

“the Morrison’s? the crew dinner party night? Steak and wine? Hello?”

Oh. Fuck. He almost forgot this shit.

“yeah, right, um, I guess I’ll see you there. Later.” He rises a tired hand to wave at the woman, and after an unexpected hi-five, he kept his half-smile until she finally walks out of the door.

Derek signed heavily, toss the towel absently around his neck and hits the shower.   

 

It's not that he doesn't like hanging out with his co-workers. Derek thinks he socials pretty decently. it's just, _trainers, eh?_ They always possess an ego that just a tad or way beyond average people. himself included, to be honest. but Derek is certain he's not the worst kind. he uses his physical excellence to give his attractiveness a leg up, but that's about it. he knows women won't throw panties at him not matter how fit he is. built your body well can make you more confident, yes, but the worst kind in the workout people, though, they built their body because they have absolutely no confidence whatsoever.

Joseph, for one, a trainer at his gym, who’s sitting directly across him on the round table, have a somewhat unpleasant smug on his face while absently glancing at Chris, another nicer trainer at his gym, who are telling some stories. he then picks up his glass to sip at his wine. Jesus, here we go, Derek mumbles to himself. like a puppet show, as Joseph brings the glass to his lips. he then intentionally flexed his ridiculously thick bicep. the muscles bulged, making his arm probably thicker than Derek's head, and Joseph grins contently, proceeding to sips at his wine. Derek wants to burst out in laughter that there actually is a dude who needs to check his position at _Thickest Arms Top100_ every fucking time he flexes them, regardless intentionally or not.

That's it. Derek suddenly lost interest in his ribs, he waited for Chris to finish the story and then excused himself from the table.

He walks to the backdoor of the restaurant for a smoke. he's not in his best mood today. Derek curses himself as he lit up the cigarette, or more accurately, this evening. he's been helplessly grumpy after that shameful memory attack. Derek is usually more tolerant towards Joseph, but today even the sight of him makes him sick.

He puffs a cloud of smoke as nicotine sinks slowly in his nerves, numbing his stirring mind a bit down. The fire door blocked most of the noise inside, the dim light illuminated the hall into a cold shade of grey. A draught flow across should be chilling for a hoodie-and-sweatpants Derek, but perhaps it’s precisely what he needed when he has just escaped the buzz and heat inside. It’s late September, Derek realizes, the winds are getting harsher. He mentally noted to wear his jacket to work tomorrow.

A muffled machinery buzz is approaching him; he turns to see a giant mopping machine coming at his way. behind the vehicle is some janitor wearing blue hat and a matching coverall.

"hey! yer not allowed to smoke in here."

Derek doesn’t respond. He’s a little bit dumbstruck because he never expects the dude to speak to him, and the voice sounds oddly familiar under the buzz. he wants to see the guy's face when the walks closer him and almost forgot he has a cigarette in his hand.

"I said, yer not smoking in here," the guy is getting closer, and this time he raised his head to exposes his face under the brim with slight annoyance.

and Derek is left dumbstruck, again.

Derek is practical and he doesn’t believe in fate and coincidence. But life is a joke and if there’s a god, god’s an asshole. Because as Derek is smoking in the hall pondering how his life stain ruined his evening, here comes a totally random janitor. The jackpot lies precisely in the face of the janitor. His features are scruffy and hard and wild, fair enough, handsome in a way even, the problem is he looks too fucking close to the one in his memory, to the extent that his body reacted automatically. heat starts to climbing up his face, and Derek found himself nearly blushing.

Suddenly comes back to himself, Derek quickly put the cigarette out on the trash can besides him before the guy seems about to snack it from Derek’s hand and put it out himself. He doesn’t stop staring at the janitor’s face, he couldn’t help. The janitor stops and staring at him as well, confusion on his face pretty much match Derek’s own. Derek wanted to escape. The situation is too intense and awkward for him to be in and he doesn’t feel secure and comfortable in his skin anymore. But god help him, out of logic, out of curiosity, out of his own desire, he just couldn’t take his eyes of the man before him. It’s hard to not look at a face that infinitely similar to the subject of a wet dream you had every now and then for almost ten years.

“I, I’m sorry…” eventually he tries to pull himself free, despite he doesn’t know why he’s apologizing since he could just turn and left, probably give the janitor a disdained look. Except his surrender doesn’t do much good, as soon as he finished his apology, the man took a step even closer, invading Derek’s personal space.

Derek hitched his breath. The man leans in a bit, his nostrils bulged the slightest bit, accompanied by a light inhaling sound. Derek couldn’t believe it. But all the facts before him tells him that, the man is clearly sniffing his scent.

“what the…” as if being electrified, Derek stumbled a step back, glaring at the janitor with his brows knotted, almost like he was offended by him. Hell, he actually did, by all means.

The janitor does the worst reaction to this situation Derek could ever imagine: he squints his eyes a little to gauging Derek for a second, before smirks and turns to his forgotten mopping machine, and proceeding to cleaning the hallway.

Pissed but ultimately glad that man is gone, Derek lost his strength and balance as he leans ungracefully against the fire door behind him, as if he had just let go a breath he’s holding since the janitor came into view.

What the fuck, just…what the fucking fuck.

 

Derek can’t sleep. He’s lying on his bed with his eyes open, half-covered body with a body heat just a tad higher than usual but is enough to make him restless, and a touch of headache. It’s like his body has somewhat blended the perfect combination of softcore insomnia: not hard enough to go clinical, just annoying. He let out the probably 144th heavy sign tonight, and blindly searches for his phone perched on his nightstand. He narrows his eye at the too bright screen and curses lightly as the clock shows it’s half an hour before two. After the 145th sign, Derek decides to maybe check his Instagram and see what happens. He opens the app to be welcomed by a strand of same-y group photos of the dinner party tonight, with different main character. He wouldn’t call it an excellent snoozer but it efficiently gets him a real yawn since he’s been on bed.

People apt to be more conscious or hypnotized in the night. Derek is no other. So he’s not entirely taken aback that a light panic starts to creeping at him, a voice, his consciousness is telling him that what he’s doing it actually avoiding something. That his depression and insomnia tonight, and his lifelong pain in the ass, is oriented from the guy he met at the backdoor of Morrison’s.

He does take aback by the last part though. That his brain automatically deemed that guy was…the guy. Derek still couldn’t believe such dramatic thing could seriously happen to a man, as if his werewolf-in-LA life isn’t dramatic enough. he can’t stop but making the worst assumptions, that what if, what if that janitor IS the dude in his memories, how he’s going to handle this, the chances of them bumping into each other is too damn high. They’re working in the same building. and if he’s coming at Derek instead…fuck. Derek cursed out loud this time. He’s wearing his fucking gym hoodies tonight, with a big ass logo on his chest. fuckfuckfuck.

Derek shuts his eyes to force himself to calm the fuck down. He knows he’s getting paranoid. That asshole couldn’t possibly just cruises to the gym front door and claims he had fucked Derek. That’s ridiculous. the scene of notion, though, nevertheless gives Derek vomiting reflex and goosebumps. He gingerly considered the concept to quit tomorrow, not that he’s actually going to do such cowardly move, just, like, a random why-not, a wild stab in the dark kind of imagination. He can’t sleep. So if he quit tomorrow and never goes half mile near that mall…

No. nope. Useless. He’s a genuine, alive person and exists. It means Derek could never hide. It means there’s always a chance he could confront Derek before the long-awaited apocalypse arrives and everybody dies.

There’s always a way for Derek to panic when it comes to this mysterious guy. Derek scoffs at the notion of being found out he was taken by a man, but honestly, Derek is terrified by it, not to mention the shame. He generally doesn’t give a rat’s ass about how others thinks of him, but the truth is, Derek, despite how wild he actually is, he’s living in a damn society with other people, and people will judge. He can ignore disdained looks, but it’s impossible to live a life like that. He had to flee his current social circle to continue living as a normal, urban human being. And that sucks. Inconvenient for one, it’s the feeling of eventually being somehow conquered by the norms of other people that bites him the hardest. 

Fuck it. He decided to catch some sleep for the best. That dude can go fuck himself. And maybe, maybe he mistaken him for someone else after all.

 

The disastrous chain reaction of the fiasco yesterday eventually being extended to the next morning. Derek standing in his bathroom, listlessly waving his hand to brush his teeth, a pair of drooping eyes staring back at him in the mirror. He almost called it sick when his clock woke him up earlier. The surprisingly cold air gives him an unexpected chill, he flinched, and turns to look at the window. It was grey outside.

Derek doesn’t bother to make himself breakfast, he grabs his jacket from his closet, a pair of cold toast from the fridge, and then hitting the gym.

 


End file.
